I ought to be writing, but instead I’ve been playing around.  I love games, I can’t help it, I would sit around all weekend and play RISK if I could find any takers.  I try to get my kids to play UNO, anything, but no. . . 

I ought to be writing, but instead I’ve been playing.  One thing I’ve been doing with my very limited computer time is creating my own Celtic Utopia in the war torn world of Terra Bellica.  It operates in your browser and you can sign up with a little questionaire. 

If you decide to give it a go, do look me up.  I am called Red_Hand and I’ve joined the Knights Templar.  (You can find my own little Tir Na Nua on Continent 28.)  I’d love to see you.  Use this LINK and I get in game gold to lavish on my friends and allies.  But seriously, give it a try and tell me what you think.

Anyway, Terra Bellica is sort’a like Risk online with limits on growth and a little bit of help starting out so you aren’t so far behind if you come later than others.  It’s something that sort’a scratches my RISK itch.

Another geeky diversion I’ve fallen prey to is Magic The Gathering.  I know, I know, you feel a little something in the back of your throat, but a housebound friend and people who I actually interact with at work are all playing this card game and I had cards from who knows when which I THINK I was using as sort’a a writer’s crutch to randomize geography.

Magic the Gathering is a fascinating and somewhat more involved game than it would appear at first blush.  (Can you believe they won a Mensa Award in 1994?) You can just throw some creature cards and some buffs with some lands and wing it.  You’ll probably loose horribly and humiliatingly as I have.  Good clean fun. 

But that’s only the most basic level of complexity.  Why there are critical decisions to be made regarding mana production and card probability.  What is your mana curve look like, and is there are better than even chance of your finishing strategy coming off or are you likely to get blocked at a critical juncture?  How do you deal with mana burn?  What if it’s an infect deck?  How do you deal with Flying? With Vampires? With Slivers? What about. . .

 . . .  Well, I’ve sort’a fallen into wanting to play a lot more than actually play, but my kids won’t even play UNO with me.  Magic has the advantage (disadvantage) of being a trading card/strategy game that takes some thought and research and pondering and deck building to do before you ever get to play anyway sooooo. . .

. . . I’ll get back to writing.

LSO

OH!  8-3 in my Fantasy league. YEAH! If I can make it past next week I think I’m probably a lock for the play-offs. . . sorry, writing.

Oh how lovely to once again feel the rush of the wind against my face.  There are the night sounds too, of course, but this of the rising air is intoxicating to me.  I had forgotten how much I loved to fly.

But I know that I do not fly, I but stand at the edge and hear and feel, though not with my true self.  This self I have chosen sighs of its own accord it almost seems.

I open my eyes in the Captain’s quarters.  I am only standing on his balcony hung on the side of the tallest tower of the capital city, not flying at all. I have hid myself in that damned cave too long.

A smile twists my lips as I turn and walk inside.  I confess, I’ve left the captain’s quarters a mess.  The dead whore in his bed will be particularly difficult for Allston Soulaucy to explain.  But it is all arranged. The madam will remember that the Captain of the City guard gazed at her with favor and that his man, me of course, paid the blood price for her.  Even in the capital city of the most righteous of kings the most disgusting perversions can be had for the right price.

There is a knock at the door.  “My Lord?  Do you have need of me?” calls a voice, quavering slightly.  I think the captain is not so kind to subordinates as he might be.  One wonders if they will miss him at all.  Likely they will easily believe the worst of a man they despised already.

“I don’t need you,” I croak, “Go away.” I catch my reflection in one of the captain’s many mirrors.  I am covered in the whore’s blood, literally from head to foot.  What if the man suspects?  What if he comes in?  I tense to deal with him like I did the woman, but relax as I hear retreating footfalls.

I must do something about all this blood.  There is a basin and water.  I wipe the gore from my body, the worst of it, I take more care with my face and hands.  I will need to presentable when I leave with the marvelous suit of armor I found treasured in an armoire.  Fit for the commander of the king’s personal guard unless I miss my guess.

Paladin are strange folk.  It may well be that it would please the captain to know that he will never face the disgrace of the allegations.  He will answer no more questions ever again.

More likely he would be tormented that he will never clear his name, not from where he lies in the belly of the wurm at the heart of Ashimura, not where his bright armor will lie in my horde when his flesh and bone have nourished me and only his armor is left intact to be eliminated.

I close my eyes to remember the delicious surprise.  “Enough of your games, Giard.  I will speak to the Wurm at the Heart of Ashimura myself.” He had said and when I begged him for patience he had run me through.  The cold steel of his sword had caused me such delicious agony.  His boot had shoved this poor shell into the soup of my resting place making the transition of my consciousness simultaneous.

I’m sure he thought he’d killed weak Giard.  Oh the delicious irony.  I saw the fear before I slipped beneath the water.  These poor eyes witnessed his shock and horror as the massive bulk of my true body rose from the depths and I beheld him through two sets of eyes, one above and one below, when a blast of fire from my maw crisped him to tasty deliciousness.

I don’t know where the idea that dragons enjoy virgins ever got started, I’ve always preferred my prey with more meat and wrapped in shiny metal.  Oh I had my fill when I ate two whole armies (Not really, I had my choice of the shiniest bits and left the rest to the crows,) but I imagine that’s how the legend went until this new king, calling himself the dragon, built his citadel upon the great volcanic rock that I crawled beneath to digest my meal.

I look at the whore, torn and bloody, on the bed.  A sad thing really, she looks more lovely dead than alive.  There is some recovery of innocence in death, I think.  When I choked the life out of her she did not fight as hard as her young body should have.  There was a sad resignation that made the killing so much less enjoyable than the arrogant captain.  Ah well, she is mere window dressing.

None will mourn you Allston Soulaucy, and when they hunt for you, they will not find you.

This then is the order of battle when CuRuada went West on his first ranging with his companions of the Boys Troop.  CuRuada and Felmid were together in the King’s own chariot, but with them went several of those boys who took up arms that day.

These then went out at Concubar’s command to range along the East bank of the White Dash and then North to the Ridgeline that overlooks the inland sea above the Plain of Muirthemne.  His thinking, with Fergus, was that these were deserted borders of Ulster and that the lads would find no trouble nor cause any.

With CuRuada was his charioteer, Felmid, who’s arm was not yet fully set, these two rode in the King’s chariot with the reins in Felmids good hand and the goad beneath his arm.  Following was Conall, the son of the Champion, and with him was Fionn, who was older than the rest and had taken up his arms the year before.  A third chariot held Diarmid, with Aengus, and Morna who held the reins.  Last of all came Conor and Braen and an older lad named Rinnchu who drove the fourth chariot.

So it was that all these came to the vale in which is the White Dash, the cold lively mountain fresh river that falls quickly from the Mountains of the West to rush across the broken bones of the mountains at their feet along the Westmost part of Ulster.  As they topped the ridge they all saw the gentle fall of the good land of Ulster as it goes down to the river and the harsh land of rock and tree that is beyond.

There below them also was the fording place called the Ash Ring for the trees that circle the slower place in the river where men can cross if they seek timber or trade with the men of the mountains.  For miles up and down the White Dash there is no such place where folk can safely pass across the waters.

“See you there,” asked CuRuada, “I see a man at the fording place.  What mischief might he be at here at the West gate of Ulster?”

“Not hard to learn,” shouted Felmid, “and with a whoop, he set the team to racing, the chariot leaping down the fall to the Ash Ring.”

“This is like to be trouble,” said Fionn to Conall.

“How could it be other?” said Conall, his face set hard and grim.  “Let us go quickly lest that youth leads all these others to death.” Nodding Fionn set the whip to their team and they started down behind CuRuada and the other two chariots.

Hi, I’m not Mr. O’Neill

I’m integrating the blog and Twitter so this is just a quick post to see if this new attempt works.

You can follow him at http://twitter.com/lstephenoneill

- Jeffery

Hi, I’m not Mr. O’Neill

I’m integrating the blog and Twitter so this is just a quick post to see if the Twitter plugin works.

You can follow him at http://twitter.com/lstephenoneill

- Jeffery